Evening hymn.

    “Lord, I have passed another day,
    And come to thank thee for thy care;
    Forgive my faults in work and play,
    And listen to my evening prayer.

    Thy favor gives me daily bread,
    And friends, who all my wants supply;
    And safely now I rest my head,
    Preserved and guarded by thine eye.

    Look down in pity, and forgive
    Whatever I’ve said or done amiss;
    And help me, every day I live,
    To serve thee better than in this.

    Now, while I speak, be pleased to take
    A helpless child beneath thy care,
    And condescend, for Jesus’ sake,
    To listen to my evening prayer.”

Then Frank and Fanny kissed each other ‘good night,’ and Frank went to his little room, which was close to the one where Sally slept with Fanny.

CHAPTER III.

THE BIRD’S FUNERAL

The next morning was a beautiful one.  The air seemed full of fragrance, and the sunshine rippled down through the leaves of the old elm tree, falling in little golden waves of light upon the vines, that were twined about the doorway and casements of the cottage.

Fanny was awakened from her sleep, by the joyous notes of a robin, that had perched close beside her window, and was shaking the dew in showers from the leaves, with every motion of his restless little wings.  She sprang out upon the floor, fancying for a moment, that it was her chick-a-dee, that was singing so merrily; and she hastened to the basket, and carefully lifted the wool.  She was grievously disappointed, for the poor bird lay stretched upon its back, and when she lifted it, she found it was quite cold and dead!  Her little bosom swelled, and large tears gushed from her eyes.  It was more than she could bear, and when Sally came into the room, a few moments afterwards, she found her sobbing bitterly.

[Illustration:  The robin.]

Frank was in the room below, studying over his Sabbath school lesson, but when he heard his sister crying, he dropped his book, and hastened up to her.  Sally had told him, that the bird was dead; and he, too, felt very badly about it, but he could not bear to hear his sister grieve so.

“Don’t cry so, dear sister,” he said, “I will earn some money, and buy you a Canary, like Mary Day’s.”

“No, no, Frank; I don’t want any more birds; and, O, how I do wish I had never wanted this one,” and then she cried again, as though her little heart was breaking.

It was some time before she was at all pacified, and even then, the long sighs seemed almost to choke her.

As Sally said, she was, indeed, ‘very much afflicted.’

After breakfast, her grandmother, to divert her mind, took her in her lap, and read to her Bible stories, until the first bell rang for church.  Then Fanny was dressed in a neat lawn, and her long curls were fastened back, under her simple straw bonnet; and taking hold of Frank’s hand, they walked to church with their grand-parents.